The Way We Know It
by The Sushi Monster
Summary: Anthony Goldstein. Theodore Nott. Seamus Finnigan. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Four boys, each from four different universes. When a certain Slytherin gets the bright idea to stick them all together in a new world, what could possibly happen? ABANDONED.
1. Laying the Table

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, which belongs to Ms. Rowling, the Dangerverse, which belongs to the lovely Anne Walsh, or Real Life, which belongs to...well, no body.

* * *

**The Way We Know It**

**Laying the Table**

_Lying in the grass, her arms were spread above her head and her feet were folded beneath her. The girl—who looked to be about ten—had deep brown hair, almost of a shade of black, which cascaded around her. She gazed up curiously at the sky, watching the clouds pass over._

_Her knees touched that of a girl of seven who also stared imploringly at the clouds, but when a shadow crossed over their vision, she stirred._

"_Go away—you're too _big_…"_

"_Well," said Anthony Goldstein, kneeling beside his younger sister. "You're too small. So, I get to do this—"_

_He scooped the squealing girl from the ground and threw her over his shoulder. Aimee Goldstein pounded her fists against his back, indignant. "Let me go! You—big—meanie!" She punctured each word with a punch._

_Chelsea Goldstein, being ignored for the moment and masked under her sister's fit, snuck up behind her brother and promptly embraced his legs._

"_Huh?" He looked down confused, only to find bright hazel orbs looking innocently back at him. "Oh, so that's how we're going to play it, huh?" When she didn't answer, Anthony jumped._

_Somehow, Chelsea clung on. Grinning widely, Anthony hopped, both girls issuing noises of protest. Eventually they reached an area void of any people except for a man and a woman, who sat contentedly on a blanket. _

"_Mum! Dad! Anthony's being mean to me!" Aimee was squirming, but Anthony still had his arm wrapped securely around her waist and had no intention to let go._

_Yet, at least._

"_Anthony…" said Seth Goldstein, giving his fifteen-year-old son a look rivaling the one by his wife, Cynthia. Said wife chuckled._

"_Anthony, dear, let the girls go," she said, patting the spot beside her. "Come here, I want to ask you something."_

_Flipping Aimee over his shoulder, Anthony helped her to her feet. She made a face at him, which he replied to with interest, before prying Chelsea off of his legs._

_The girls proceeded to tackle their father and dig through the picnic basket for food. Anthony chuckled and took a seat beside his Mum. She smiled at him warmly. _

"_So, if I may be so bold as to ask, when shall I be graced with the presence of this girlfriend you speak so highly of?" At seeing his blush, Mum tapped Anthony's cheek lightly. "Oh you can't fool your mother, dear. Haven't you realized that by now?"_

"_What girlfriend?" asked Anthony, trying very hard not to blush._

_He was failing miserably._

_Mum rolled her eyes, smiling widely. "Oh, you know who I'm talking about. Padma, I believe her name is. Lovely girl. And she had a knack for helping out in the kitchen." She closed her eyes, smiling, as if a film was being played in her head. "God knows I could use the help. Especially with magic." She looked at the girls fondly, a sparkle in her eyes. "Thank god they're witches. But then again, I have to be the odd one out."_

_Anthony laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Mum, we love you no matter that you're a Muggle. Dad wouldn't have married you otherwise."_

"_I know, I know. I just hope that this war doesn't hurt you. It hurt your father the first time, but I wish that it doesn't harm you this time."_

_Anthony sighed, closing his eyes. He lay down on the grass. The comfort, the warmth, that he had felt just moments before vanished from inside of him._

_This wasn't real._

Anthony Goldstein opened his eyes. Instead of seeing the bright sunlight streaming, with his happy family beside him, he saw only the darkness outside his compartment window.

He shot a glance at the two other trunks. Terry Boot—being the responsible one he was—had gone off to attend to his prefect duties. Michael Corner had followed him, muttering something about the bathroom and his girlfriend Lisa Turpin.

Anthony sighed. It had been so easy to daydream about his family. He craved happy memories and moments, but he was only covered by despair and fear. Fear for You-Know-Who.

No matter how much time he spent with Harry Potter, Anthony was still wary of saying the name. The wizard who had killed his parents still haunted him. The wizard who had ordered his Death Eaters to kill his sisters still frightened him. He had gained the courage to possibly fight back, sure, but it still held true that the name was a curse if spoken by his lips.

The train suddenly jerked, but Anthony thought nothing of it. _Probably a Dementor near by or something. _He was turning back to the window when the compartment door opened and a raven haired, green-eyed teenager from Anthony's year tumbled into his compartment, dust tumbling from his trousers.

"Goldstein! Fancy seeing you here," said Harry Potter, glancing down at the silver dust floating throughout the compartment. "Sorry about that, mate. Luna handed me a vial of this, saying it came from a Handeron—cousin of the unicorn," he added at the confused look on Anthony's face.

Nodding in understanding of Luna Lovegood and her wild theories, he waved it off. "It's no problem, Potter."

"It is," he said, brushing off the front of his shirt, "if you call me Potter."

"I'll call you Harry if you call me Anthony."

"Deal." Harry looked around. "Where'd Boot and Corner go off to?"

"Terry and Michael," said Anthony, looking at Harry and emphasizing their names. Harry nodded sheepishly. "Terry was patrolling the corridors last I heard, and Michael went off to see Lisa."

Harry nodded and smiled, but then threw a look out into the corridor. "Well, mate, it was nice to see you, but I better be heading off."

"Go ahead. The world's savior must be busy." Harry groaned, but said nothing, and Anthony chuckled.

After the door had shut, he looked around. The dust had spread everywhere, including Anthony's trunk. Hastily, he got up and began cleaning it off.

Somewhere between cleaning the seats and himself, Anthony started feeling strange. Maybe it was being stuffed up alone, or perhaps it was the dust. Whatever it was, it prompted Anthony to slump in his seat, eyeing the dust beside him—which was resting on the ledge beside the window—warily.

_Why do I feel like I should blow on it? _Hesitantly, Anthony lifted the silver dust into his hand. He tilted his head.

"This dust I hold in my hand beckons me. Hear me now and heed my words. What I say I mean full heartedly, and I mean no harm."

The words came of their own accord, and startled, Anthony felt as if he was to make a wish.

He sifted through his thoughts, but his prominent one lay buried deep within the hole he had dug when he had heard the news months earlier. _No, not now…it must have been the daydream…_

"I, Anthony David Goldstein, wish with the deepest fiber of my being to be allowed the opportunity to redo my mistakes from the past, help those in the present, and find joy and happiness in the future. By the despair and sorrow imposed on me by wrongdoers, I ask for a second chance to save and to heal. So I speak, so I intend, so let it be done!"

The last word vibrated through the tiny compartment. Nothing moved and nothing made any noise. Shocked by what he had done, and blinking furiously, he breathed deeply. But as if to make him aware that his journey had only just begun, with one last impulse, he leaned over and blew the dust away.

He was distracted from seeing if something significant had happened to the dust, however, by the arrival of his two best friends.

"Anthony, sorry mate, got caught up—what the bloody hell happened here?" asked Michael, staring at the compartment midway before sweeping into the seat beside him.

Anthony sighed. Suddenly, he felt so tired. Even Michael's blunt jokes or Terry's witty anecdotes didn't seem appetizing. He just wanted to sleep…

"Anthony?" Terry sat down across from him, his face slipping into concern. "You alright?"

Anthony idly nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, is all. How much longer 'till we get to King's Cross?"

Michael frowned at him. "Mate, we left only an hour ago. You got plenty of time. We'll wake you up," he said, suddenly smiling, though slightly sourly. "Besides, Mum would have a fit if you didn't show up."

The usual stab at having to move to the Corner's was missing, but Anthony's eyelids were drooping and his mind was far from attentive. "Yeah, sure…wake me up when we get—"

The last word never left his lips as Anthony Goldstein fell fast asleep.

* * *

High above, in a castle strikingly similar, a man, long thought to be dead, smiled smugly. His robes matched his emerald green eyes which danced with triumphant as he ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. 

Alexander Slytherin grinned at the woman beside him. "Told you it'll work."

The redheaded Margaret Ravenclaw rolled her eyes and shook her head. "How does Rick put up with you? For that matter, how do any of us put up with you?"

The so-called _good son_ of Salazar Slytherin grinned. "You've realized you can't win. Took you many thousands of years to figure out, but you did."

Margaret flatted out her robes in their homey color of faded blue jeans and sighed. "You better hope your latest plan succeeds," she said, eyeing him warily. "Sophia and Brenna will most likely have a fit—and not in your favor, either."

"Your sisters have nothing on me."

"Yes, perhaps, but Mum does."

"That—well—we'll cross that bridge when it comes," said Alex, shiftily. Margaret only shook her head and exited the room without saying anything.

Grinning, the Slytherin turned his attention to the next world. It so happened to be one of his favorites and a control world.

_One down, three to go.

* * *

_

He lay draped across his bed, staring at his striped red and green socks. He had been against returning to his home for Christmas break, but Dumbledore had been adamant in that he return and look like the "perfect Death Eater son."

So, Theodore Nott was locked up in his room and refusing to exit it. He left only a few times, either to use the restroom or to have dinner. Otherwise, he called upon the House Elf to give him meals or bring him entertainment.

_Merlin, what was the point of coming here? If I go down there, Dad will be sure to notice something's wrong. Why didn't I just stay?_

Grumbling, Theodore buried his head into his pillow. _I wish this didn't happen. I wish Dad _wasn't _the head Death Eater, and I could be somewhat _normal

_I wish Black and Potter and their little friends didn't have their stupid _PackHe spit out the word like it would contaminate him. _I wish Dad would just love me for me and not for doing jobs…

* * *

_

Of course, in the world of Danger, wishes were very powerful. How powerful, Theodore was going to find out.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve and Theodore was fast asleep. He already knew what presents he was going to receive, the element of surprise not one heard of in Pureblood land. 

The clock read _23:59_.

Theodore was dreaming of a world with a Theodore Nott who was happy. It had a Theodore Nott that was loved by his father, his mother actually saw him more than just three times a year, and he had _friends_.

He had friends who laughed at his jokes, who cared about him, who _searched for him when he didn't send a letter._

He sighed in his sleep. He knew it wasn't possible. He didn't think that it would actually happen.

The clock struck midnight.

Theodore Nott slept on.

Alex wouldn't get the grin off his face. _Yes! Now only two more to put into place…_

A man wearing sunny yellow robes walked into the room, sighing. "What are you doing Alex?"

"Didn't Margaret tell you? I assumed she would send you in."

"Yes she did," replied Adam Hufflepuff, exasperatedly massaging his forehead with his right hand—the thumb of which held a small green stain. "But still, Alex, what are trying to do?"

"I'm making another control world, of course."

"Of course," repeated Adam, throwing his arms in the air. "Why are you making _another control world_ when we already have one?"

Alex looked at him. "This is the only world we'll have that doesn't have Danger Granger," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "All the others have her in some way or another. This one won't."

"I thought we had a world without Danger already."

"We do. But it won't succeed. So I'm helping it."

Adam's jaw dropped. "_Helping it?_ Alex, when Rick hears this—you are _so_ dead—"

Alex chuckled. "That's what you think, my friend. That's what you think."

Adam threw his arms in the hair. "I give up. You're crazy."

"Why, yes, I am."

Adam shook his head and left. Smiling to himself, Alex turned back to his second most favorite world.

_Now, one more traveler, and then everything will be set.

* * *

_

His fingers tapping against his desk, he glanced from the computer screen to the book beside him. _Let me finish it first…might as well._

He clicked on the link from his email signaling the latest update, a screen popping up. Smiling in anticipation, Seamus Finnigan started to read chapter twenty-six of Facing Danger, a Harry Potter Alternate Universe Fanfiction by the author Anne Walsh.

After snickering at Amanda Smythe and Luna planning Draco's future, after gasping at Lucius' dream, after cheering at Remus' calling upon his life debt, and after smiling at Neville spying on the Order, Seamus clicked on the review button and whirled once in his chair.

_Deck the Halls or We Wish You a Merry Christmas? Deck the Halls, hands down._

Seamus wrote down a quick review telling the author how great the chapter was and that he looking forward to the next chapter. He exited the window and turned back to the book.

_Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone _stared back at him. At first, Seamus had been against the series, but after venturing into the world Fanfiction, he came across some really good pieces. But he had yet to actually read the series.

So, Seamus had finally convinced his Mum to buy him a copy of the first book as an early Christmas present. He looked at the book in his hands. Warily, he flipped to the first page.

He already knew the basic plot of the first couple of books, having read Anne Walsh's series, and knowing that it was somewhat similar to the actually Canon. But it wasn't the same as reading it fully.

After a few moments of reading about the Dursley's and their "_normalness_", Seamus burst out laughing. He recalled that in the Dangerverse—the name given to Anne Walsh's series—the Dursleys had been cursed. _Serves them right, too._

He reached the part where the tabby cat that had been stationed on the Dursleys front step had transformed into Professor McGonagall when it happened.

The power went off in his house. Seamus heard his Mum frantically looking for a candle. Frowning, he picked up his book and headed back down to the kitchen.

"What happened?"

Mum nodded towards the back door. "Snow storm. Hopefully the power will come back before tonight."

"Hopefully," Seamus agreed. Controlled by a sudden impulse, he hugged her.

"Oh—Seamus. Why, thank you," she said, hugging him back. "Now, why don't you head over to a window to read that book of yours."

Grinning, Seamus did just that. He made himself comfortable on a couch next to the large window and pulled out his book. Hagrid had just arrived to Number Four when the phone rang.

"I'll get it!" He crossed over and answered it. "Hello, Finnigan residence, Seamus speaking."

"Seamus, mate, it's Thomas. Me and Phil were planning on playing a game of cricket—want to come?"

"It's Phil and I," said Seamus absently. "And I can't sorry. Mum's busy."

Seamus purposefully didn't mention his father. _Not that I have one, of course._

Thomas made a noise of consent. "Okay then. See you tomorrow at school, mate."

"See you."

He hung up the telephone and headed back to his reading spot. Before he could start reading, however, he sighed.

_I wish there was some way for me to have a father figure. I wish I had someone to watch over and love me. _He sighed again. _Mum loves me, and I know that, but—but it's not that same._

Shaking his head, Seamus pushed the thoughts away. Now was not the time. He had a perfectly good book in front of him, and lots of time. Chuckling at the fact that he sounded like Hermione, he began to read.

Hagrid had just mentioned Sirius Black—_Sirius! He's innocent! Innocent!_—when he felt a jerk in his navel. Surprised, he looked around. No one was around. He was alone.

Shrugging it off, he returned to his book. He hadn't gotten through the next sentence when he felt it again.

Slightly worried now, Seamus stood up and moved to the side of the couch. He turned back to the book.

By the time he finished the next paragraph, the invisible cord took hold of his waist and pulled.

Seamus Finnigan was gone.

* * *

_Mission successful. _Alex smiled inwardly to himself. _Now all I need to do is set the last one in place and we can get this show on the roll._

He chuckled at himself for his use of Muggle phrases.

"What did you do _now_?"

Striding in with bright red robes, a man with tawny hair was looking at Alex suspiciously. The Slytherin sighed.

"Why must everyone think I'm up to something bad?"

Paul Gryffindor shrugged. "You're a Slytherin. That and you're _always_ up to _something_, so we assume it's something bad."

"Well, you know what they say about people who assume—"

Paul interrupted him before he could continue. "_Anyways_, what _are_ you doing?"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "No one told you?" Paul shook his head. "Well then," he said with a smile on his face. "I'm merely helping your many-times-great-nephew."

"With what?" asked Paul warily.

"I'm helping him defeat _my _many-times-great-nephew, of course," said Alex, his smile having turned into a grin. "What else is new?"

Paul shook his head again. "You do realize that no one will be able to unbind his Gryffindor powers in the world you've created?"

"Yes. That's why I'm bringing in reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?"

Alex grinned. "Anthony Goldstein from Universe twenty-three, Theodore Nott from our very favorite universe—number two, and Seamus Finnigan from universe one. I'm taking Justin Finch-Fletchley from the new universe and adding him to the group."

Nodding, Paul frowned. "I'm presuming Rick knows?"

"You may presume so."

Paul rolled his eyes and chuckled. "I'll take that as a no."

"Take it as you wish."

Saying nothing, the Gryffindor left the room leaving a laughing Alex behind him.

_Now, to bring everyone together—

* * *

_

His hair was, once again, curly and unruly. And it was blocking his vision.

"_Mum_—I can't _see anything_!"

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley just smiled. "Justin, dear, it'll flatten out. Don't worry about it."

Justin Finch-Fletchley just grumbled under his breath and turned back to the window.

King's Cross station was only five minutes away now. Justin would be going off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—finding out he was a wizard had been such a surprise and now he just couldn't _wait_ to learn magic and wave his new twelve and a half inches Ebony and hair of unicorn wand.

After Justin had got the letter, a woman in blue robes had come to their home and rang the doorbell, explaining it all. Justin went from scared, to confused, to amazed, to excited all in a period of half hour.

The car pulled up into the station and he cautiously got out. Ever since hearing that magic _actually existed_, Justin had been wary of strangers. _What if they're wizards? Could they just summon fire—like that?_

He was still amazed. He had the entire summer to dwell on the fact, but it just made _so much sense_. Why else could he have curled his hair without a curling iron?

_Never mind the fact that it _could be_ my natural hair…but I highly doubt it._

A step behind Mum, Justin glanced up at the numbers of the platforms. _8, 9, 10, 11…wait, aren't we supposed to go to platform 9 ¾?_

He glanced up to tell his parents this—Dad was following him, pushing the cart—when Mum halted in front of the section between platforms 9 and 10.

"Okay, dear, go ahead." When Justin looked back at her utterly confused, she smiled. "Justin, just walk through the platform. Nothing to it."

_Nothing to it? Is she _mad?

But seeing as his throat wasn't cooperating, Justin cast a wary look over his shoulder. Mr. Finch-Fletchley smiled and nodded his head encouragingly.

"The lady told us it was quite simple—walking through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, and you'd be at platform 9 and ¾ before you know it."

Justin gulped and took the cart.

_Okay…here goes nothing. _Taking in a deep breath, Justin closed his eyes and took a step forward. Step by step he took, until finally he knew that cart was inches away from the brick, _solid_ wall. _One more step…_

Before he knew it, he would hear the _thunk _and his parents would realize it was all a lie, a hoax, and everything that he thought made _sense_ was just a coincidence.

But instead of everything crashing around him, he felt a breeze pick up his hair. Opening his eyes, Justin felt his jaw drop.

A steaming, scarlet train stood on the rail, surrounded by people in robes. Children ranging from ages of four to eighteen crowded the platform, some talking to adults, others loading trunks. A stone archway stood before him, the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ etched on it.

Justin was overwhelmed. Wizards and witches were acting _normal_, most of them wielding wooden wands, similar to Justin's own. He watched as trunks floated effortlessly and children hugged their parents and siblings, carrying owls in their hands. Justin had wanted an owl, but his parents had been wary, and decided to wait to gift it to him.

Awkwardly, and fully aware that he was alone, Justin made his way to the train, pushing his cart carrying his trunk in front of him. Searching for an empty luggage rack, Justin didn't notice a weedy, brunette boy running into him.

"Oof. Sorry mate," the boy knelt to the ground, picking up some papers that had fallen and stuffing them into a box. Justin timidly helped him.

"It's okay." Nervously, the muggle-born turned back to trunk and attempted to load it in the rack.

The boy frowned. "Let me help you with that."

"No, no, that's okay, really," Justin protested. The boy had nothing of it, however.

"Well, too bad," he said, lifting one side and shoving it onto the rack. Justin, out of breath, thanked him.

The boy waved it off. "I told you, it's no problem. It's Theodore Nott, by the way," he added.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Theodore's smile faltered for a moment before coming back. "You're a first year, also, I assume?"

"Is it that obvious?" asked Justin, nervously.

"No, no," said Theodore, laughing. "You just remind me of myself when I first—" he cut off suddenly, however, his eyes growing wide. "Um, pardon me. The train will probably be leaving soon."

And before he could say anything, the brunette had left, leaving Justin with his mouth open.

He groaned. _Great. Just as I think I might just have someone to show me around, he disappears._

Shaking his head, Justin fating himself for the worst, climbed onto the train. Sighing, he glanced behind him and towards the direction where he knew his parents where, hoping the best for him. Smiling slightly, Justin took his first step on the train.

_Magical world, here I come.

* * *

_

Up in the castle of the Founder's, Alex Slytherin smiled widely. Everything was in place. He may do some nudging and some plotting, but for the most part, his work was done. He had faith in the four, and in the rest, to succeed. They could do it.

_I hope_.

* * *

Notes: Do killing, please. There's a long story as to how this story came to be, which one day I might tell you. But for now, if you like, or even if you don't, please do review. 


	2. All Aboard

**The Way We Know It**

**Chapter 2: All Aboard**

When one wakes up in the morning, the usual feelings are of eagerness to start the day, or of imminent dread in anticipation of facing the day and its possible hardships.

For Theodore, it was the latter.

Groaning, he fell out of bed—literally—and crawled out from under his sheets, throwing them back onto the bed. As he stood, Theo stretched and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, his eyes fell onto the mirror stationed across from his bed.

He almost screamed.

When Theo went to bed, he was fifteen years old. He had grown over a foot from when he had first entered Hogwarts, his voice had definitely lowered in pitch, and he _definitely_ had larger hands.

_I look like I'm _eleven!

Theo froze. _No, no _way_, that's impossible…_

Taking another quick glance at the mirror, Theo dove for the calendar behind his door. His jaw dropped at the date.

_September 1__st__…1991? My birthday? What the _hell_?_

He dropped the calendar to the floor, pacing across his room. His brain was frantically thinking, his mind a blur of questions and confusion. How in the _world_ did he get transported four years into the past? And why on _this _date?

Theo honestly couldn't figure it out. The only explanation that would make sense would be something about him being eleven, or something to do with him needing to enter his first year again.

Breathing heavily, Theo ran his hand through his brown locks before glancing at his closet. _Might as well make myself presentable…Mum will have a cow otherwise._

For some reason, his body flinched at the mention of his mum. Theo frowned. _Well, that's odd…_

Shrugging it off, Theo started the beginning of what he felt was going to be the rest of his life.

_Well, isn't that just the cliché…_

* * *

He was sleeping peacefully as his family car cruised down the way to King's Cross station. The birds chirped cheerfully in the background of the typical city noises as cars sped off to their destinations. Anthony had not a care in the world—he was innocent, carefree, and had no burdens.

Then he woke up.

Face flat against the window, Anthony blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the sudden light. Rubbing a hand against his eyes, he looked out the window.

And he froze.

_This is _not_ the middle of Scotland. And I am _not_ on the Hogwarts Express. _Anthony quietly surveyed his surroundings, his eyes resting on sisters.

His _alive_ sisters—the ones sitting right next to him and that were very much breathing. Anthony looked at the front seats and saw his father and mother—_alive_.

_No freaking way. This isn't possible._

His shock must have registered on his face, for Chelsea, being two years old, looked at him with an amused expression. "Tony okay?"

Mum turned around, looking at her children. "What's wrong, Tony, honey?"

"Nothing, Mum," said Anthony, the word leaving a tingling on his lips. "Just—forgot where I was for a moment there."

Mum smiled at him before turning back to the front. When Dad pulled up at the station, Chelsea was giving him an odd look.

"Forgot where you were, huh?" asked the two-year-old, cheekily. "Let's see about that."

Anthony blinked. "Um—sure…" he trailed off, shrugging off his sister's odd behavior.

The entire way to the station, Anthony tried to figure out _where_ he was. And _when_, because he definitely didn't feel fifteen anymore, and his family was _alive_. He was _not_ in 1995. That much he knew.

All the logical points pointed to one place, one time—1991, September 1st, and Anthony was about to take the Hogwarts Express to his first day at Hogwarts.

He gulped. _Do I _seriously_ have to do this all over again? Oh Merlin, please let there be a way to go back…_

But in the back of his mind, Anthony knew he didn't _want_ to go back. His family would be dead there, the Wizarding world plagued by war. He didn't _really_ want to go back.

His feet had taken him by instinct, Anthony absentmindedly following his Dad as he led the family to platforms nine and ten. He closed his eyes for a moment, a feeling of excitement, wonder and awe creeping up his throat, but only for a flash before it dissolved. Frowning, Anthony opened his eyes before glancing behind at Mum who was positively beaming.

Turning his attention to the trunk he had in front of him, he pushed it towards to barrier. He was about to step forward through it when Dad grinned at him brightly.

"Ready, son? I know you're nervous and everything—I mean, you _are_ going through a seemingly solid barrier—but I'll be with you. Chelsea would probably be able to go too, but let's let your mom have some company, shall we?" he said cheerily.

Anthony could have hit himself. _I'm not fifteen anymore, am I? I must be eleven now. I've never been here before, I've only ever _heard_ of Hogwarts, I haven't actually gone there…I'm not in Ravenclaw anymore—I'm eleven._

Smiling hesitantly, he nodding in what he hoped was a nervous manner. It must have passed the test, since Dad led him by the arm. Smiling encouragingly, he pushed him gently.

"Go ahead, son. Close your eyes, it helps, I find."

Fighting down the urge to sigh, Anthony closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.

Another one—

Soon he was walking swiftly—

A breeze past him—he opened his eyes—

He was through.

The first feeling of comfort reached Anthony at that point. Inwardly, he smiled.

He had no idea what was going on, but if he was going to Hogwarts, if his parents and his sisters—if his_ family_ was _alive_—he'd make it through.

He had to.

* * *

Walking behind his father, Theo looked at the ground, absorbed in his thoughts. Everything was happening so _suddenly_. Half of him wanted this to all be a dream, for none of it to be real. The other half of him wanted to stay forever, wanted to never leave.

His mother was _dead_.

Dad wouldn't tell him _how_ she had died, but it was fairly obvious once Theo had arrived for breakfast and the former Death Eater had cheerfully ushered him out the door. Theo had tried to ask about Mum, but something told him not to.

That was when he saw the picture, positioned on the mantelpiece.

And suddenly, it came back to him. _She's dead_.

Theo looked at his father and frown thoughtfully. A clear difference from the father he used to know was evident. But there was one thing that was bothering him.

_Why did everything change? There's obviously something different in _this_ time line, but what?_

Theo looked at the box in his arms. He had picked it up in haste on his way out, knowing it would probably hold some sort of clues that would help him fill in the blanks in his mind. It had been just _lying_ there in his room; it must have held _something_ that could help him. Theo studied the top sheet with interest.

**HARRY POTTER DEFEATS THE DARK LORD**

**Sirius Black Imprisoned, Twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew Found Dead!**

_By Rita Seeker_

Snorting at the author, he looked back up, his thoughts again returning to his mother. His _dead_ mother.

_She's dead_.

It was going to haunt him, he knew it. But it didn't make it any less surprising, or any less unpleasant. Even if he hadn't been very close with her, and even if she _had _called him Dora, she is—_was, was…I hate past tense_—his mother. And she always would be.

He sighed as they reached the station, Theo finding himself facing the platform between nine and ten. He could feel his father at his shoulder, a bright smiling dawning his face, pride and happiness evident. Theo felt his throat close up at the thought of a father who _loved _him. Actually and truly _loved him._

Closing his eyes, he stepped through the barrier like he'd done for the past five years.

_Only now, technically it's my first year._

And it hit him. _I'm a _first year! _I'm eleven! I can't go to Hogsmede, I have to learn the levitation charm again, and I haven't kissed a girl! Oh _Merlin.

The year would definitely be interesting.

He was reminded just how interesting it would be when he bumped into someone.

And that someone looked to be Muggle-born.

While he was bent over, stuffing some of the papers back in box he had in his arms, Theo frowned inwardly. He didn't really understand why he was acting all nice to people. Hadn't he yelled at Potter and Weasley back home? Hadn't he hated Dursley with a passion, being unnecessarily mean to him?

Theo shrugged it off, standing up. He frowned outwardly when the boy in front of him struggled to load his trunk. "Let me help you with that."

"No, no, that's okay, really," the boy protested. Theo had nothing of it, however, shaking his head.

"Well, too bad," he said, lifting one side and shoving it onto the rack. The other boy thanked him.

Theo waved it off. "I told you, it's no problem. It's Theodore Nott, by the way," he added.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Theo's smile faltered for a moment before coming back. "You're a first year, also, I assume?"

"Is it that obvious?" asked Justin, nervously.

"No, no," said Theo, laughing. "You just remind me of myself when I first—" he cut off suddenly, however, his eyes growing wide. "Um, pardon me. The train will probably be leaving soon."

And before Theo could make more of mess than he already had, he rushed off.

_Gah, how stupid can I be? I almost told him! Well, this isn't going to be as easy as it looks, it seems._

Scanning the crowd in search of Dad, Theo stepped up onto the train. He spotted him a ways away, speaking to a friend of his, stowing away Theo's trunk into the luggage rack.

He turned back to the train, wandering through the compartments. Most of the ones in the front were already full, so he made his way towards the back.

Then he reached the Slytherin compartments. Theo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. _Do I want to do this? Will they just suck me into whatever Dad used to make me do? Or do I sit somewhere else, start fresh?_

His decision was made for him, however, when a pale blonde stepped out of a compartment and brightened at the sight of him.

"Theodore! How are you, mate? Come in here, keep you safe from all those pesky Mudbloods around here—what that fool is thinking, I'll never know—"

Theo followed Draco Black—or was it Malfoy? He was certainly acting like one—into the compartment, not having any other choice. He recognized the others as his former classmates—though it seemed likely that they'd be in the same House again. Pansy Parkinson sat in the corner, speaking rapidly to a very bored-looking Millicent Bulstrode, beside of whom Artemis Moon sat, a book in hand.

Blaise Zabini sat by the window, staring out at the parents as they hugged and kissed their children before sending them off. Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe sat across from each other doing what they did best.

They stared at each other. Theo raised his eyebrow before turning back to Blac—Malfoy.

"So, um, Malfoy?" said Theo hesitantly. When Malfoy just looked at him with bored expression, Theo continued. "It's kinda crowded in here, isn't it?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Not too bad. Besides, I can always use an expansion charm if we need it."

Theo blinked. _We learn that in third year… _"You can do one?"

"Of course. My father isn't Lucius Malfoy for nothing!"

Nodding absently, Theo frowned inwardly. _Well, that answers _that _question. I wonder what happened to change that from this time line…_

Theo pushed it away from his mind for now, taking a seat across from Parkinson, who was still talking to Bulstrode, completely unaware that the latter wasn't taking in a word she was saying. Theo stifled his snickers.

* * *

In the back of the train, Justin finally found an empty compartment. After settling himself in, he reached into his trunk and pulled out a book, which he began reading as he leaned against the wall of the compartment.

He was interrupted a few moments in, however, when a boy stumbled through the compartment door. At first the boy looked confused, as if he hadn't meant to enter, but his eyes grew wide as they landed on Justin, and the Muggle-born had the intense urge to shrink away.

Justin was never good with attention, and having the strange boy look at him like he was some type of spectacle in a zoo was making him very uncomfortable. He was about to look away when the boy snapped out of it and tried to force a smile on his face.

"Um, do you mind if I sit here? Can't find another compartment right now," he said kindly. Justin nodded and the boy sat down across from him. "I'm Anthony. Anthony Goldstein... Um...I'm a first year. You?"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley. And I'm also a first year," said Justin, awkwardly turning back to his book. He didn't know _why_ but the way Anthony looked at him—it was giving him the creeps.

The train had started moving. Justin's stomach leaped in excitement, but he was still very, _very_ nervous. _No turning back now…_

Justin could hear Anthony as he reached into his trunk and moved his arm around in it. Book high enough to cover his face, Justin frowned. _Why doesn't he know what's in his own trunk?_

"Um, this might sound as a really odd question, but do you know what year it is?" he asked, and Justin, raising an eyebrow, frowned more deeply.

"1991. Why?"

"No reason," was the reply, but Justin knew that there was more than that. However, if the other boy wasn't going to tell him, Justin wasn't going to pry.

_Yet._

"So…what House do you want to be in?"

The question startled Justin, who had thought that the other boy would just stay quiet. Instead, he was trying to make conversation. He sounded _interested_.

Justin was quite unnerved. But trying to make the most out of the company, Justin forced a smile on his face. "Um…I dunno. What're the Houses?"

"Oh, right, you're Muggle-born," he said, as if he should have known that. Justin opened his mouth to point out that he hadn't said anything about being Muggle-born, but Anthony had already started to speak. "Well, there's Gryffindor, founder Godric Gryffindor, house of the courageous and the brave. Also home of the more stubborn and reckless. Head of House is Professor McGonagall, the transfiguration professor.

"Hufflepuff was founded by Helga Hufflepuff. It's the House for the loyal and the hardworking, though admittedly they're not the most outspoken or the most famous. Most people call them the house of duffers; the nobodies who don't fit in any other House. I happen to think they're some of the coolest people. Their Head of House is Professor Sprout who teaches Herbology.

"Slytherin is the house of the ambitious and clever. It was founded by Salazar Slytherin and has Professor Snape, the Potion's master, as head. Most of the bad wizards usually end up there, though…" he trailed off, his expression thoughtful. Justin allowed him a moment before idly clearing his throat. "Oh! Right! Sorry about that."

Justin just smiled. "It's okay…" He rather liked having Anthony talk—it saved him from the trouble of thinking of something to say and it got rid of the awkward silence of earlier.

"Well, the last House is Ravenclaw, founded by Rowena Ravenclaw. It's the house for the brilliant and the bright, the studious and those ready to learn. Most of us—the people in the house are bookworms, though. Professor Flitwick is the head. He's the Charms teacher," said Anthony, slowly turning redder. "Um, sorry, I—my older—brother—told me all this stuff, and I—um, get excited easily, yeah—" Justin shook his head.

"It's okay, really." And it really was. Justin still was unnerved by Anthony—he _had_ given him the creepiest looks—but it was normal to be nervous. _Besides, I'm nervous too. _Justin frowned, however, as he realized something. "You sure know a lot about the Houses and Hogwarts in general, don't you?"

Anthony froze. He smiled nervously. "Um, well, like I said, older brother goes—went there. So, you know…" he trailed off, his eyes trained to the floor. Justin just smiled.

Turning back to his book, Justin heard Anthony pull out one of his own.

_Maybe he's just nervous—maybe he didn't mean to be so…creepy. _He shot a glance over the top of his book. _Maybe he'll be in my house and we can be friends and can tell me why he's acting so…weird._

_Maybe_.

* * *

Alexander Slytherin did his best to hold back the grin that threatened to overtake his lips.

He failed.

After all, two out of three isn't that bad.

* * *

Theo was bored.

It had only been an hour or so since the Hogwarts Express had left the station, but already he found himself falling into a doze. As his head drooped, the train would wake him up again. Eventually even the endless cycle of Theo trying to sleep got boring, so he smiled at Malfoy and hastily made his way to the restroom.

It was on his way there that he spotted a boy—_eleven or so; so young—the same age as me—_lying in the hallway. Rushing over to him, Theo immediately checked to see if he was breathing.

He was. Sighing, Theo looked into the compartment where the boy looked to have tried to stumble into without opening the door. Two boys were seated in it, both carrying books. His eyes narrowed as he recognized both of them.

_Finch-Fletchley and Goldstein._

Glancing back at the boy, Theo noticed that he had red hair and looked familiar. But for some reason, he couldn't quite place a name to the face. The redhead stirred, and Theo turned back to the occupants of the compartment.

"Lend me a hand, will you?"

Goldstein, after shooting him an odd look, leaned over and looked at the boy. "Are you okay?" he asked. The boy moaned, rubbing his forehead, before nodding. He stopped, however, seemingly too painful.

"Yeah, I think. Head just hurts and—" he cut off, though, spotting Theo and Goldstein. His eyes grew wide. "Who—who are you and why am I on a train?"

Theo and Goldstein exchanged looks. "Um, how about you come in here. You must have hit your head hard," said Theo, helping the boy up. A name flitted to front of his mind, but Theo couldn't recall _exactly_ what it was. Frowning, he helped the boy to a seat. "I'm Theodore Nott," he introduced.

"Anthony Goldstein, and this is Justin Finch-Fletchley," said Goldstein, nodding towards the other boy. Finch-Fletchley, still clutching his book and staring at the boy, merely nodded.

Theo awkwardly stood in the doorway. The fact that he didn't recognize the boy unnerved him. He should _know_ all the students, shouldn't he?

But then the reality hit—the time line was different, something wasn't the same here. But it didn't change the fact that the boy looked familiar. _Looks like a Gryffindor, definitely…but who? _Sighing, Theo nervously glanced at Goldstein. In his other life—_wow, that sounds strange_—the Ravenclaw hadn't really liked him. He suspected it was because of his…fickle nature and his dealings with Dursley. But he wasn't sure.

_I'm in a new world; I might as well make a new start._

Theo gave Goldstein a nervous look. "So, um, do you mind if I sit here, my compartment was getting kinda—stuffy," he asked nervously. Goldstein, his eyes slightly hesitant, nodded slowly. Theo gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

Taking a seat next to the boy—who was still rubbing his head, his expression that of disbelief—Theo inwardly sighed. _Look at me. Trying to get away from them when I know perfectly well that I'm going to end up like them anyways. Oh well..._

Glancing at the other occupants in the room, Theo knew that something was up. _Where had this guy come from? He looks like he fell from the sky… _

There was something odd about the boy, and Theo was going to find out.

* * *

_My life is so strange, it isn't even funny._

Anthony was staring at the boy who had fallen out of nowhere. Anthony didn't recognize him, so he guessed there was something different happening this time. The boy had just fallen into the compartment door, and luckily, Nott had been passing by. _Speaking of…_

Theodore Nott, Slytherin and lackey of Draco Malfoy. At home, Nott had been solely responsible for half of the accidents on the other houses during Quidditch season. Not to mention that he followed Malfoy like a dog.

Then of course, there was Justin. Justin, his former best friend. Justin, his first friend at Hogwarts. True, he and Terry and Michael were close, but Anthony _missed_ Justin.

He missed his _dead best friend_.

Anthony refused to look any of them in the eye. That was when he noticed something. "Hey, um, you dropped something."

The only object that had been in the boy's possession lay on the floor. Bending over, Anthony picked it up, planning to hand it over to the boy.

He eyed the cover. "_Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_," he read, his face turning very pale. His eyes turned on the owner, hard. "Who the _hell_ are you and where the hell did you get this?"

"I bought it—" the boy started, but he stopped. "Why am I explaining? This isn't possible," he said. "I mean, I'm dreaming, I have to be! This isn't _possible_." The redhead's was muttering under his breath, his hand running through his hair.

Justin looked nervous as the boy continued to mutter nonsense. He eyed the boy warily, his knuckles clutching his book tightly.

Nott, on the other hand, froze. He wheeled around suddenly, his eyes focused on the newcomer."Why is that?"

"Why is _what_?"

"Why is this not possible?" he questioned, more eager, his eyes flashing. Anthony frowned. This Nott wasn't the same as the one from back home. _That_ Nott had been apathetic, emotionless. This one seemed angry.

The boy looked around the compartment, confused, but his eyes were hesitant. "I'm—I'm Seamus Finnigan and in the world I come from, Harry Potter is only a fictional character."

Anthony and Nott both sat down.


End file.
